


Objectively

by mistr3ssquickly



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Han you're kind of a slut, M/M, Past Han/Lando, Past Han/Leia, Past Relationship(s), Post-Canon, We all love you anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 13:20:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6117655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistr3ssquickly/pseuds/mistr3ssquickly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Objectively speaking,” Lando says, tipping his head towards Han, “my twin is hotter.”</p><p> </p><p>  <span class="small"></span><br/><i>Or: Lando and Han share a drink after the victory on Endor. It goes about as well as you’d expect.</i><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Objectively

**Objectively**

“Now, you tell me,” Han says, sliding in next to Lando with a mug of spiced Corellian ale and a wicked glint in his eyes, his mouth quirked in the asymmetrical grin Lando’s kissed and punched more times than he cares to count, “how a pair of swindlers like us managed to land a pair of lovers like _that.”_

He gestures with his mug as he speaks, not quite inebriated enough to slop any of its contents, to the Skywalker twins talking quietly together in the far corner of the pub, Luke bending close to compensate for their difference in height, his hair falling in his eyes as his sister speaks to him, her chin upturned, lips moving around words swallowed in the noise around them. Lando takes it in, cataloguing without too much thought the similarities and differences between the siblings, Luke’s lean strength and hyper-bright eyes, Leia’s powerful grace and wicked calm. The perpetual mess of Luke’s hair, fluffing in all directions in the warm, humid air of Ryztafir City. Leia’s braids, bound up perfectly despite the long hours of her day. Luke’s skin, sun-darkened and rough, the shadow of scars across his cheek visible even as far away as he is. Leia pale by contrast, soft and porcelain in ways Lando has known since he first laid eyes on her in Cloud City she absolutely is _not._

Beside him, Han laughs into his mug, gulping ale like he’s won a bet or something. Lifts his eyebrows and shoulders in a shrug when Lando looks at him and wants to know what’s so funny. “Just thinkin’,” Han says, clapping Lando just a shade too hard on the shoulder, “that a beautiful woman like Leia is way outta your star system, old buddy. _Way_ out.”

 _“My_ system?” Lando says.

“Yup.”

Lando shakes his head. Looks over at the twins again, at Leia moving her hand in a line, laying out unseen arguments for her brother’s consideration, Luke watching her eyes without blinking, his mouth curved in an almost-smile that speaks to affection and amusement and an argument not yet voiced, but eagerly awaiting the opportunity. Guaranteed to put his sister in the kind of mood that will put her in Lando’s bed, later, wound tight with excess energy Lando is genuinely eager to help her expend.

“Objectively speaking,” Lando says, tipping his head towards Han without taking his eyes off the pair in the corner, “my twin is hotter.”

Han snorts into his ale. “Objectively speaking,” he echoes.

“Mmm _-hmm.”_

“Says the man who’s never seen Luke naked.”

Lando considers that for a moment. It’s not a bad mental image, but. “I don’t really think I need to,” he says.

“Good, ‘cause you won’t get to,” Han says. “Convenient.” He takes a slow drink of ale, runs his thumb along the rim of his mug. “My twin is better with his mouth.”

Lando gives him a look of mock surprise. “A true gentleman is grateful for the gesture,” he says, “and doesn’t _judge.”_

“Oh, I’m always grateful for it,” Han assures him. “But when there’s room for comparison, a man compares.”

Lando lifts one shoulder in concession to Han’s point. Laughs, after a moment, when a wicked thought crosses his mind. “You realize that brings you in dead last, then,” he says. “I’ve not had the pleasure of experiencing your Jedi’s skills, of course, but I do know that the princess could teach you quite a lot about the art. And I’m talking basics, here, Solo. The fundamentals. Not even _approaching_ her ... _specialities.”_

Han gasps in what Lando honestly suspects may be genuine offense. “I am _great_ at --”

“Yeah, well, as a man who can objectively compare performances, let me tell you: the beautiful woman over there is better than you in every way in that arena,” Lando says, “and if you’re going to _insist_ that her brother’s even better, then I’m thinking maybe I should buy Commander Skywalker a drink out of sympathy.”

Han glares at him. “Save your credits,” he grumbles, lifting his mug to his lips. He lowers it again without taking a drink. “Save ‘em to buy Leia something nice to make up for the fact that you’re kind of a lousy lay, actually, ‘cause both of them have better stamina than you ever did.”

Lando waves the words away with a dismissive flick of his hand. “Those are memories of a younger man with a shorter fuse, Solo,” he says. “I can promise you that my ladyfriend has no complaints.”

“None she’s shared with you,” Han says. “She was raised to be a politician. She’s used to compromise.”

“She was raised a princess,” Lando corrects, “she’s used to having the best. And since when did you have any complaints? Wasn’t me dragging you into the captain’s quarters of the _Falcon_ every chance I got, back in the day. Or more recently, if you’ll recall.”

Han snorts but doesn’t respond, taking a drink from his mug instead, which Lando counts as a win, the memory vivid still of Han pulling him into his quarters on the _Falcon_ as they escaped the dust and heat of Tatooine, anger and gratitude and confusion and lingering hibernation sickness swirling from shouting and posturing into desperate kisses and artless groping, Leia coming to find them just scant minutes after they’d finished fucking each other with no grace or skill or coordination, sweat and semen and resentment and wounded brotherhood hanging heavy in the air when Han opened the door to confirm for Leia that everything was all right, that he and Lando weren’t killing each other. He feels the impulse to reach out and touch Han, to squeeze the hard muscle of his thigh or stroke the ticklish spots under his ribs, to wrap his hand around the thick calloused fingers he’s known intimately over their years of friendship, but he resists. Picks up his glass instead, downing the last of the Bivalli wine he’d ordered before Han showed up to ruin his evening, the heavy flavor of it refreshing on his tongue, a welcome distraction from his thoughts.

“We don’t deserve them,” he says, his memories from Bespin eager to come forward at even the slightest provocation, as always: Leia’s bravery as she placed herself between Han and danger in their holding cell, her voice commanding and strong as she warned Luke away from Vader’s trap. Her heartbreak, palpable in the air around her as she tended to Luke, as she tended to Han. The beautiful princess too brave to sit in her ivory tower, safe and guarded and pampered. The passionate rebel, trapped in the small, delicate form of Leia Organa, Jabba’s prize and the Republic’s figurehead and one more of Han Solo’s conquests, checked off like a notch in his bunk frame.

 _“They_ don’t deserve _us,”_ Han corrects, finishing off his ale like a man who needs his drink more than he wants it. “It’s that ‘bad things happening to good people’ thing Luke’s always on about.” He gestures with his now-empty mug. “We’re bad things, you and I.”

Lando pats his friend on the leg, Han’s bodyheat a comfort under his palm. “Speak for yourself, Solo,” he says, resolved as he slides out of his chair. “I’m going to go see about being the best part of Leia’s day. Try not to get too lonely while I’m gone.”

He doesn’t quite dodge the punch Han throws into his shoulder, none-too-gentle from either the drink or lingering resentment or both. And he _can’t_ leave without giving Han something to remember him by in return, and by the time Luke's stepping in to separate them, Leia shouting at them to cut it out, it’s devolved into a proper pub brawl, Han’s lip bleeding and Lando’s right eye starting to swell and both of them laughing and happier for it, tossing the barkeep a handful of credits on their way out as an apology for the mess they’ve made, their arms slung around each other’s shoulders.

“Unbelievable,” Leia grouses, following a step behind, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

Lando shoves Han in Luke’s general direction and slows his step, draping his arm gently around Leia once she’s at his side, kissing her hair when she glares up at him. “He deserved it,” he promises her.

“I don’t doubt you _both_ deserved it, and worse,” she says on a sigh. Her hand is gentle when she lifts it to touch his face, though, her fingertips blessedly cool where his eyes is working on swelling fully shut, courtesy of Han’s knuckles. Lando leans into her touch, leans down to kiss the little frown forming on her lips, and she kisses him back.

“Get a room, you two,” Han says, for all that he’s got his arm around Luke’s waist, his hand low enough that Lando would bet it’s on Luke’s ass (if he could see well enough to tell). He does his best to wink at the pair of them, the swollen eye significantly diminishing his success, and keeps his hand up where it is, well within the limits of propriety, his thumb stroking Leia’s upper arm through the soft fabric of her tunic.

“Thanks, Han old buddy,” he says. “I think we’ll do just that.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Some points of interest:  
> I saw this in a dream this morning, woke up, and wrote most of it before putting on my glasses, getting up to pee, or feeding the cat. The cat is planning to never forgive me.

> I love the idea of Lando and Leia ending up together, for all that I’m pretty sure any child they had would turn into Palpatine 2.0. Think about it: both of them with their political and business savvy, Leia’s pull towards the Dark Side (inevitable with all the shit she’s been through and the fact that _no one ever bothers to give her Force training)._ Kid’d be cute, though.

> Also I have no idea if [this story](http://lorryborry.tumblr.com/post/138606289675/i-cant-believe-i-literally-only-just-remembered) is true, but if it is, then HA, awesome. There’s reference to it up there, kinda.

> On that note, if Billy Dee Williams doesn’t show up in Ep VIII or Ep IX, I’m going to pout so hard you’ll be able to see it from space.

> On a different note, I tried to use two earth-sports metaphors in this story and had to curb myself. “Out of your league” and “par for the course” don’t have any place in a _Star Wars_ story.

> And on a thirdly different note, do any of you fine folks know of any EU books that focus on Leia and NOT in a fucking romantic way? Like a book that looks at her life, growing up on Alderaan, groomed to be a princess, how she became a Rebel, what on _earth_ (or any other planet or moon, for that matter) gave her such tough-as-nails sass? ‘Cause friends, that little lady is _brimming_ with sass.


End file.
